The Loner Within
by Shanaconda
Summary: Elizabeth tries to come to terms with the changes in her relationship with Francis, as well as the hidden fire that has suddenly begun to take control of her judgement. Full Summary --


Title: The Loner Within  
Author: Nyetta (ME!)  
Character(s) or Pairing(s): England x France / (implied) England x Prussia  
Rating: G  
Warnings: N/A  
Summary: Elizabeth tries to come to terms with the changes in her relationship with Francis, as well as the hidden fire that has suddenly begun to take control of her judgement.

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England smiled faintly at the refined young woman that gazed back at her in the full-length mirror. Her reflection looked fragile and delicate, yet hard to break. Just as she'd been in her childhood. This England was no more, she knew. Not for a while now.

Ever since her engagement to France, England had developed a sort of insight when it came down to certain things. Some nights, when he didn't come home, she got these feelings that ate at her insides. No matter what his excuses were, she could always see the truth - or lack there of - but _refused_ to contemplate it for even a moment. This new _perception_ was the ultimate cause of her cynical way of thinking. After a while, England could no longer keep her subconscious from realizing the truth of France's infidelity. Once the truth sunk painfully in, she began to feel that ever-present fire inside burning fiercer, no matter how she tried to supress it. Of course, France viewed the substantial changes in her to be nothing more than hormonal. Bloody idiot.

Running a hand through her blond hair, she adjusted her corset (Oh, how British fashion pained her) and fingered the small heart-shaped locket Francis had given her. Without a second glance at her unfamiliar reflection, England strode down the staircase and out towards the gardens. However she tried to be discreet about it, it soon became common knowledge amongst the household that she visited the rose bed only when she was feeling 'anti-social' as France would call it. That probably wasn't far off the mark, but it was more for the sake of dealing with her emotional pain in silence, without having France all over her, pretending everything was all fine and dandy.

England could hardly blame him for playing it cool. In fact, she was certain he didn't have a _bloody_ clue that she suspected - or rather _knew_ - that he was unfaithful. It was no wonder everyone knew something was up when she visited her precious roses: she sat in the gardens almost every other day. But France knew better then to question her reasoning. For one thing, he sure as hell would not have liked the answer. Therefore, he continued to interpret it as nothing more than a calling from her feminine side.

France may not see her true intentions, but _he_ did. Oh yes. The man with the devil's eyes. No matter how high-strung he may seem, he's never failed to make England feel uneasy in the strangest of ways. The way he watched her, like he knew all her dirty little secrets...

England could hear voices outside the chateau, just beyond the garden pathway. _Damnit_. There was no way she about to be caught sneaking off to the rose bed with another of France's mystery guests strutting around. She peered out from behind the archway, straining to hear. Honestly she wasn't sure why Spain's voice made her feel more relaxed, but the fact that he was familiar seemed acceptable. England felt a faint, almost out-of-place flutter as France spoke, and then another voice - _his_ voice. Oh, lovely.

"Are you alright, mon cheri?" England blinked her mind back into reality, and realized after a few moments that the trio had stopped conversing and spotted her framed in the archway, looking as if she had a terrible headache. Well, her thoughts having traveled back in flashs so fast she struggled to keep pace, it wasn't surprising. Still, she had managed to succeed in looking like a bloody fool. Typical.

"Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" she said with a bit of an edge, adding a bit of emphasis on the last part. At first, her growing irritation with him had surprised and unnerved her, but that bloody fire never seemed to know when to die out. So why bother?

France caught the tone in her voice and responded with a sad smile. Good. Let the bastard feel guilty. Spain let out a small cough, apparently trying to break the tense silence. Even without looking at the man sitting across the table from her fiance, England knew he was smirking. She could feel it.

"Come join us, Elizabeth. It's been a while since you've had any _real_ social activity. Surely your roses can wait, oui?" France said nonchalantly, pouring another glass of wine and holding it out to her. England flinched and tensed dangerously. Something about his mentioning of _real social activity_ caused her inner-fire to flare up in a blaze of uncontrollable heat. It took every bit of her will not to snap _'at least I'm good to my roses and take the time and care to love them!'_ but she would never dream of it. Not even when they were alone would she ever admit exactly how contorted her heart was whenever she looked him in the face.

England let herself relax, and she put on a clearly fake smile, eyes still holding a small flare as she gently rejected the glass of wine being offered to her. "As tempting as it is, Francis, I have more important matters to deal with. Unless, of course, you would rather I let my people run a muck inside your territory...?" France gave her a look that clearly stated that he would prefer not to have his house burned to the ground by angry British rioters.

England was only partially satisfied as she turned to leave them. Part of her still wanted to lay in the grass beside her rose garden, thinking of the happier times, forgetting all the pain France had caused her these past few years. No one would ever understand why she chose the rose bed of all places to dispel her misery. It was because everywhere else smelled of him, or reminded her of him in some way. The white roses were the only things in this world that didn't have a history concerning him. It was the perfect place to escape.

It was only expected that she would have to make eye contact with _him_ sometime during the whole dramatic procession. Just as she turned to leave, before she escaped back into her thoughts, she caught his eye. "Elizabeth!" she hesitated with her hand on the archway, just thin of making her escape, and looked over her shoulder. Her heart dropped as she met his gaze, his startling red eyes piercing into hers. It made her feel...safe.

Safe in an awkward way. Perhaps it was just his supposed radiation of 'awesome' that lifted her spirits, if even just a little. "Don't listen to this idiot. Theres nothing wrong with wanting to be a loner. In your case, I think it's pretty hot." There was a short-lived awkward silence, broken only by France's appreciative chuckle. Spain rolled his eyes playfully, and England turned fully in his direction, not entirely sure how to respoond. Honestly, she wanted to slap France so badly she could barely control it. It often came down to this: Prussia making some kind of sexual joke or flirtatious comment in her direction, and France taking it as a compliment on his choice in women.

And yet, there was something else about the things Prussia said to her. It was almost like he was giving her encouragement or advice, once she got past the crude humor. England wasn't sure why, but she often took those small bits of hope to heart. Perhaps that was why she felt safe around him. He was like a constant - nevermind obnoxious - reminder that there was still time to take control, to stop letting her emotions eat her from the inside out. That abundant amount of 'awesome' he claimed to have must come from somewhere, right?

"I'll keep that in mind" she said. With a genuine smile that she ensured only he would see, England turned on her heel and fled back into the house, the fading sound of Prussia's laugh falling away behind her.


End file.
